


strange dichotomy

by 1001cranes



Series: Second String 'Verse [2]
Category: Glee
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-08-02
Updated: 2011-08-02
Packaged: 2017-10-22 02:50:42
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,720
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/232938
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/1001cranes/pseuds/1001cranes
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Kurt is really not sure how he ended up in the backseat of his monstrosity of a car with Puck, but he’s not complaining. Panicking a little, quite possibly, but not complaining.</p>
            </blockquote>





	strange dichotomy

After Puck first kissed him, Kurt spent a lot of time thinking about exactly what in the sweet hell that meant. He’d examined it from a lot of angles. It was possibly an elaborate prank, of course, but after he’d thought about it for a minute it didn’t seem terribly likely. For one, the jocks have never been too complex in their torture. Pick Kurt up, throw him in the garbage bin. Pick Kurt up, put him in a gym locker. It’s been a pretty simple process.

For two, it required Puck to pretend to be gay, even for just a minute. Kurt wouldn’t put it past some of the more closet-case jocks to be in it for a blowjob, then turn tail and run back to their girlfriends in the celibacy club. _Convenient_. But… Puck kissed him first. Puck kissed him _at all_. There was some kind of reciprocity, there, and Kurt doesn’t know exactly what that means except there’s some kind of truth.

And that “truth” is that Puck was a complete closet case that was never going to go anywhere. Not that Kurt technically had any stones to throw, because even though he was naturally fabulous he’d only told _one_ person at school he was gay… but it definitely meant he was never going to have a boyfriend. Just a dirty little secret. Which was kind of… titillating, actually. And on the other hand, it was more than what he had now, wasn’t it?

 _What about your self-respect_? a little voice in his head pops up, but Kurt can shrug that off easily enough. He had that in spades – he knew how fabulous he was. If no one but Puck took him up on it, well.

Kurt runs his fingers over his lower lip, just for a moment. As far as first kisses go, it wasn’t earth-shattering, or show-stopping, or anything. But more than adequate. Or so he supposes.

| |

Puck’s having a shitty week. Not just failed his Spanish test shitty. Not just shown up on the football team shitty. Not just knocked up his best friend’s girlfriend shitty. No. Shittier. Not only does Quinn reject him when he tried to step up – which, fuck her, he gets it. It sucks, but he gets it. He can’t even hate her for that, because he gets the choice between him and Finn. Finn’s a good guy. Finn’s a fucking _great_ guy – but that’s not just it either. Quinn made it sound like he practically raped her on top of it all, like he got her drunk and took advantage like one of the creepy assholes down at the bowling alley that buy rum and cokes for the underage girls. Like she doesn’t know how the thing between them worked. That’s not how she worked.

Puck gets it, you know? Finn gives her that perfect cutesy couples feeling, but the celibacy thing doesn’t really make her feel hot - not to mention all the attention Finn was paying to Rachel couldn’t have been great for the ego. She's feeling fat, so she goes to Puck and flirts and asks if he’s got any wine coolers, so he uses his fake ID to buy her drinks. He's flirting back, because why not? That’s what they’ve been doing since the eighth grade. Mutual ego boosting. And maybe she doesn't want to remember it that way, maybe she doesn’t want to admit how far it really went, but she was just as into it as he was. It’s just easier to make him the bad guy, to make Finn even better.

Then it gets him thinking about the moms whose pools he cleans. They don’t want anyone to know either. He’s just something they whisper about with other housewives at PTA meetings, or over bridge, or whatever. A dirty little badge of suburban honor. And it pays, and its _sex_ , so most of the time it doesn’t bother him. Until he realizes they don’t know a goddamn thing about him besides that he has a nipple ring. And Santana – _fuck_ Santana, okay, who breaks up with someone over their credit score? Did she ever like him _at all_?

So, yeah, probably the shittiest week he’s had since his dad took off, and he is really not in the mood to deal with Kurt when he comes over to Puck after Glee practice.

“Here’s the thing,” Kurt starts, looking around to make sure there aren’t any witnesses, and Puck gears himself up for another run through the rejection mill. “Even though you’ve played a decent part in making my life hell for the past three years, you’re not a complete asshole. And you can sing tolerably well. And you’re not,” he clears his throat. “ _entirely_ unattractive.”

Puck’s suddenly got a much better feeling about this. Kurt is licking his lips nervously, like he thinks there’s some kind of trick here, when Puck just wants Kurt to get with the program like half an hour ago.

So Puck crowds him, one hand coming up to play with the fold of Kurt’s collar. He lowers his head until his forehead is almost touching Kurt’s, and ignores the small inevitable flinch.

“Just say yes,” he says, and this close up Puck can see Kurt’s wearing lip gloss again.

Kurt has to swallow twice before he can speak.

“Yes.”

| |

Kurt is really not sure how he ended up in the backseat of his monstrosity of a car with Puck, but he’s not complaining. Panicking a little, quite possibly, but not complaining.

“So,” he starts, tapping his fingers on his knee. “You – ”

“For the love of God, Hummel,” Puck says, “come _here_ ,” and he drags Kurt over by his shirt, which is how Kurt ends up unceremoniously perched on Puck’s lap, his hands on Puck’s chest, and – _is that a nipple ring_? Puck’s nipple hardens under Kurt’s fingers, and, wow, definite yes there. Kurt pinches it, experimentally; weirdly turned on by the way Puck’s gaze goes unfocused. “That’s –” Puck says, “you can keep that up,” and shoves his tongue into Kurt’s mouth, all testosterone and aggression, forcing it open, and the kiss is wetter than he expected, wetter than last time, and Kurt moans – moans like a two-dollar hooker, like one of the celibasluts in the back of their boyfriends Toyota after Homecoming, oh wow.

Kurt slides one hand from Puck’s chest to the bit of skin that’s peeking out from under his shirt. Testing the waters, as it were. Also, Kurt’s on the football team now, he _knows_ how amazing Puck’s abs are under there. And before he can blink Puck’s tugging Kurt’s shirt out of his pants, yanking it over Kurt’s head – which normally he would complain about, hello, it’s _Lacoste_ – but Puck’s mouth settles on Kurt’s collarbone quick enough to turn his shriek into a completely undignified squawk.

“I'm not gonna say I won't bite,” Puck says, baring his teeth, like some kind of _wolf_ , or something, and there’s a vein in Kurt’s bottom lip that suddenly decided to start throbbing in time with his heart. “But you'll like it.”

“I believe you,” Kurt says, voice high and breathy and really not at all sexy, unless Puck happens to be into Marilyn Monroe. But Puck’s hands are on the curve of Kurt’s hips, just above his ass, _kneading_ , and Kurt is having some trouble focusing, here.

“What do you want?” Puck asks, and _dear Natalie Wood in heaven_ , what kind of question is that?

“I,” Kurt stutters. “You, just.”

“Yeah,” Puck breathes, “that’s what I thought,” like what Kurt said made some sort of _sense_ , and he shifts back so Kurt’s lying on top of him, almost, and Puck does bite, and he’s right, Kurt _does_ like it, even though he’s mentally calculating how long it’s going to take him to cover everything up tomorrow – maybe a scarf, it’s a good thing scarves are so in right now – but they mostly just make out for a while. Which is pretty surprising, because if Kurt had thought about Puck – _not_ that he thought about Puck – he figured there would be a little less making out. A little less of catching Puck’s stubble on his lips, a little less of Puck’s hands memorizing the bumps in his spine. Puck is really _intense_ , too. Like he keeps pulling back to look at Kurt’s face, and smirking? Which shouldn’t be as hot as it is, honestly, and Kurt retaliates by tugging on Puck’s nipple ring with his teeth, hard, right through his shirt. The way Puck’s dick jumps against his thigh is intensely gratifying.

“Okay, Hummel,” Puck says, and he sounds almost like he’s laughing. “Okay.”

That’s when Puck’s hips start to move faster against him – like the rhythm starts to get a little faster, a little meaner, somehow. But Kurt’s good with rhythm. That he’s got. He can keep up.

“Yeah,” Puck says. “Yeah, this is what you want,” and Kurt is a teenage boy; he’s really, really familiar with the pressure building at the base of his spine, so it’s not much of a surprise that the next time Puck reaches down into the front of his pants and strokes, he loses it.

“Oh,” he gasps, “ _Puck_ ,” and he can’t help it, really, the way he comes all over Puck’s hand, snapping his hips forward so fast its like an even more pornographic flashback to _Push It_.

It’s only a second later that Puck goes taut beneath him, and then almost impossibly loose, his warm breath blowing over Kurt’s face in hot, wet puffs and one hand still idly stroking Kurt’s stomach. There’s practically a whole minute where Kurt doesn’t think of the dry cleaning bill.

“You tell anyone about this,” Puck finally says, when they’ve moved away from each other and straightened their respective clothing, “and I will bury your body in the end zone.”

“I accept your terms,” Kurt says breathlessly. “So, uh. Are we doing this again?” He kind of expects Puck to laugh at him, to be honest, but it’s worth a shot. He gets laughed at most of the day, why should it matter if it’s post-coital?

Puck looks at him for a minute. Then he fishes Kurt’s iPhone off the floor and types in his number. “I’m free after practice most days.”

| |


End file.
